


The Man Behind Him

by myystic (neoinean)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoinean/pseuds/myystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series what-if. One way Neal might have survived prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Behind Him

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the _White Collar_ kink meme on LiveJournal. Prompt: Neal/OMC from prison; orgasm denial.

It's a cliche.

Normally Neal doesn't mind cliches (there's a _reason_ some of the classics are classic), but he's pretty sure that he should mind this one. Was pretty sure he _had_ minded, way back when, but years of staring at the same four walls have loosened the threads a bit and now he can't be certain of his memories, can't trust himself anymore to unravel truth from lie, reality from fantasy, real-life from something only dreamed.

(Follow one down and it's coercion, spelled out for him in terms of choice and consequence. Follow another and it's contractual, a mutual exchange of services. Follow a third and find he's really the one in command of the game.)

But it's still cliche.

Peter would be appalled. Neal knows that, because even in prison Neal knows Peter, probably better than he knows himself right now. Peter would be shocked and horrified, not that it happened but that it happened to _Neal_, that it could happen in one of the nicer hells, in one of the ones Peter thought was safe.

(And Peter would come for him, if he called. If he called and said "they're raping me". He would come with a court order and an outside doctor and one of those little evidence collection suitcases, and Neal would be interviewed and photographed and examined to within an inch of his life, but at the end of it he would be -- transferred. Shuffled off to another hell, a different set of same four walls and horrid orange jumpsuits. One where everyone would know that he'd told.)

Fucking pissass cliche.

The man behind him is a drug dealer. One of the non-violent types, kept his coworkers in pot and pills. Shouldn't have tried to grow his own. Got too greedy -- went to jail. They all have the same sad story.

(The man behind him is six-foot four, a washed out college footballer. The man behind him is big and stupid, likes Nascar and the Wachowski brothers. The man behind him calls him _Nelly_, pulls his hair and smacks his ass, grunts when he thrusts and whimpers when he comes.)

Still a goddamn cliche.

It's just biology, that Neal knows for certain. Shove something up there deep enough, you hit the prostate gland; God's eternal proof that Leviticus was just a cheap forgery written by some _two-bit hack_. Maybe he should sic Peter on them. It's been three years -- man's about due for another feather in his cap.

(It's just basic biology, that his body responds to getting fucked. That his breath quickens and his cock twitches and his balls pull up and his muscles start to quiver. It's just biology that has Neal spread out opened wide, grinding his teeth or gnashing down on his own hand to keep from crying out and alerting the guards.)

Just one gigantic cliche, from start to fucking finish.

Except it never really finishes. Because they're both still here. One to fuck him and one (Neal) to not object to getting fucked. At least, with the man behind him, he doesn't have to _look_. And if he doesn't look he doesn't see, and all the lies can blossom into fantasies, can overwrite the nightmare into simple little dreams.

(And behind him its Kate with a double-edged strap-on, bright purple (she had a thing for purple) and _so_ made-in-Japan because whatever the hell it looks like it certainly isn't penis, Kate who was kinky but solicitous. Or behind him its Mozzie, who'd always had a thing for Neal (even before Kate), but who Neal had always liked too much to ever risk their friendship on a cheap lay, Mozzie who wants him some but respects him more. Or behind him its Peter, not the first man to fuck him (over), but in his head he'd courted Peter for three years before it came down to shouts and hands and handcuffs, and its both true and not-true, reality and fantasy, living in his head but only maybe (maybe) inside Peter's too.)

Neal could really start to hate that damn cliche.

But then again he can't be sure. Not when his (traitorous) body never really seems to mind. Not when the man behind him never wanted anything more than a nice warm hole to shove his cock into, a little pretty prison boy who'd put up and shut up. Not when the man behind him couldn't care less whether or not Neal comes.

(And he does, sometimes, when he wants to be with Kate, when he wants to remember how much she loved him (and how much she loved to love him). Sometimes, when he wants to be with Mozzie, when he wants more than anything for the comfort of a friend (not a lover, not with strings, just his Mozzie). And sometimes, when he thinks of Peter, Peter who's probably straight and vanilla and likely treats his bed like an alter for his (improbably gorgeous) wife, Peter who would save him, if he asks, because (God-fucking-_dammit_!) sometimes Neal really, really wants to be saved.)

But cliches exist for a reason.

And the man behind him, who leaves bruises on his ass (on his chest, his sides, his back, his thighs -- anywhere that's not his face) takes him in the showers, in the laundry room, in that little supply closet they're not supposed to be able to enter, but has never once tried to get into Neal's cell. The man behind him, who breathes through his mouth and picks his teeth and doesn't wash his hands after taking a piss still keeps him safe from all the men in front of him, the ones that would do worse.

(And he's so wrapped up in chasing his own pleasure that he doesn't care about Neal's own, doesn't notice that every two times out of three Neal's holding back, refusing to give in (no matter how much his body tells him it wants to). Doesn't realize that Neal comes for Kate, comes for Mozzie, comes for Peter even -- but never ever for the man who put them there, the man behind him fucking him. That man has never been able to make Neal come, and Neal's determined to keep it that way.)

The man behind him finishes (grunt-grunt-_whimper_), shudders and pulls out. Neal lets himself sag, stretched and aching and still half hard (fucking biology, fucking _fucking_). The man behind him slaps his ass (twice, hard, overlapping older bruises) and slides his pants back up. Wait a beat (breathe, _breathe_) and Neal does the same.

It may be a cliche, yeah. But it's also his life.

Neal has learned to live with it.

 

-_fin_-


End file.
